After being stood up again, Yanette finally accepted what she’d been avoiding—he wasn’t coming. Alone at the corner table in a dim bar, she swirled the last of her third glass of non-alcoholic wine. The silence around her only magnified the ache of disappointment. With a quiet sigh, she got up, paid without flinching at the cost, and stepped into the cold night toward her sleek black Mercedes. Drinking alone had become a sad ritual, and tonight was no different—until it was. Just as she reached for her car, masked men emerged from the shadows. They grabbed her bag, shoved her to the ground, and stole everything—including the car. Dazed and bleeding, she managed to stumble to a nearby alley and collapsed beside a garbage bin, her body trembling and her thoughts fractured.

Tears came hard and fast. Humiliation, fear, and pain overwhelmed her as she pressed a hand to her bleeding head. Lights blurred, sounds faded, and everything smelled of trash. Then came footsteps. Through the haze, she lifted her head and whispered hoarsely, “Hello? Is anyone there? P-please… I need help… I need a doctor…” Her voice broke into sobs as she slid further down the wall, unsure if anyone had heard her desperate plea.